


The End of The End

by Saratonin



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, Post-Divorce
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-26 06:57:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14995313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saratonin/pseuds/Saratonin
Summary: Mycroft remembers when it all fell apart.





	The End of The End

**Author's Note:**

> I have been wanting to get this out for years. It's a bit of my story smashed into a couple of pages. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I hate having done this to Greg, because Greg is one of my favorite characters. Of all the characters. I felt like using Mystrade for this story and think it's a different take from anything I've seen. Usually Mycroft is portrayed as heartless (or seemingly heartless). I wondered what would happen if I wrote it this way. It came out of me as quickly as my fingers would go. So while I normally write fluffy fluff or smut, I wanted to get this out. And I'm glad I did. It was incredibly cathartic. 
> 
> I blame bryntwedge and bigblueboxat221b for their tumblr drabbles that led to this. Many thanks go to bigblueboxat221b for beta'ing. All the remaining mistakes are my own.

It had been a couple of weeks. Time didn’t mean anything, but Anthea mentioned it when she came for a “check-in.” Mycroft wasn’t thick, he knew that meant checking on himself. Two weeks out of work was unheard of, but Mycroft could barely get himself out of bed let alone into a suit.

He hadn’t meant to let things with Greg get that bad. He thought they would always be together. But the excitement had been gone for years. They didn’t go out together, and their time in was mostly separate. Affection was rare and not heart-felt. They were still close - the best of friends. And they were great roommates and travel partners. But the true meaning of partner did not apply to them anymore.

When it seemed that Greg had found someone that excited him again, he was sad. But not the kind of sad he thought he would be.

He was sad that the remaining friendship would be gone. He was sad that someone was able to steal his partner’s attention that easily. He was frustrated that it was happening obviously in front of his eyes. If even he could see it - then who else was witnessing it?

_Greg received a text one evening from the usurper. He giggled. That’s all it took. Mycroft looked at Greg and said, “You need to be on suicide watch right now.”_

_Greg looked up from his phone with a only slightly concerned look on his face. “The masseur is here and ready for me, do I need to send her home?”_

_Mycroft looked into Greg’s eyes and said slowly, with urgency, “You need to be on suicide watch. Now.”_

_Greg’s eyes grew in size and he went to the guest bedroom where the masseur was setting up. He'd known that Mycroft had been struggling with how the marriage had been not-progressing. But he hadn't known how badly it had gotten. Greg asked the masseur to leave, and Mycroft went into his own ensuite. He walked into the shower - suit and everything - and turned it on. He stood there with the hot water running over himself and wept. He held himself up as long as he could before he lowered onto the stone floor of the shower and curled into himself. There he remained. He was slightly aware of Greg sitting on the floor of the bathroom watching._

_Eventually Mycroft was able to stand up. Greg moved into the bedroom and Mycroft removed the wet clothing and dried himself off. He wrapped himself in a warm dressing gown and plopped (as much as Mycroft was able to plop) onto a chair in his room. He was exhausted._

_“Are you ok?” Greg asked._

_“No,” Mycroft answered. “We need to get a divorce.”_

_Mycroft looked at Greg who looked sad - but also relieved._

_“Yeah, we do.” Greg quietly replied._

_Mycroft studied him for a little bit. “How long have you been waiting for me to say that?”_

_“A while.”_

_Mycroft looked down at his hands took a breath and then returned his eyes to his, now former, partner’s. “That’s a despicable thing to do. How long, Gregory?”_

_Greg opened his mouth and paused. He steadied himself and winced a little before starting. “Do you remember the restaurant in Manila? Van Gogh is Bipolar? He had a darkroom to write your secrets in. Remember?”_

_Mycroft nodded._

_“My secret was that I wouldn’t be sad if you were gone.”_

_Mycroft looked as if he’d been shot. He whispered, “Two years. That was two years ago.”_

_Greg looked down in shame. “I really am sorry that it’s ending this way. I’m sorry it’s so hard for you.”_

_“That’s a lie Gregory and you know it. You’ve been too frightened to do anything about it yourself. You can pack a carryall and find somewhere else to sleep tonight.”_

_Mycroft walked out of the bedroom so he didn’t have to witness his former partner leaving._

Mycroft blinked and looked at the empty side of the bed that used to be filled by Greg. He felt horrible. And he knew that lying here no longer was the best for him. He had to get up.

“Anthea, will you please make an appointment with the therapist we got for Sherlock when John was engaged? I’ll set myself up in my home office for a couple of days. Get caught up on correspondence. I could use some tea and toast, if you would.”

“Right away, sir.”

As Anthea exited, Mycroft got out of bed and went into the shower. A clean body sometimes lead to a clean mind. He wouldn’t put on full battle armor, but he would put on trousers and a shirt. Maybe a tie. That maroon one that Greg hated. Mycroft grinned.

He wasn’t thick enough to think that it would be sunshine and daisies from here on out. But he knew that a shower, tea and toast, and checking his email and memos would be a good start.


End file.
